


hollow

by fluffysfics



Series: rewriting history [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Episode: s12e05 Fugitive of the Judoon, Suicidal Thoughts, This is a heavy one, but I promise it’ll get better, just not in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Doctor makes a discovery that changes her life forever. The Master is left trying to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: rewriting history [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064198
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	hollow

“It was the fire alarm,” the Doctor whimpers, right on the verge of tears. She’s trembling in his arms; shaking, destroyed, and it’s _him_ that she’s come to for help. 

The Master isn’t even entirely clear on what they’ve just been through. It’s been a _long_ day. 

It had started with a perfectly normal adventure with Nikola Tesla, and then had careened straight into a Judoon-related distress call that had, again, seemed...relatively normal. To his chagrin, he’d been _beamed up_ , rather rudely, by perhaps his least favourite of the Doctor’s ex-pet humans. The freak of nature, Jack Harkness, who had gone around abducting _all_ of them except the Doctor, in his search for...the Doctor. The Master was just glad that he’d managed to escape being kissed. 

As for the Doctor, she’d...she’d been off having an adventure of her own. From what she’d told him, she’d followed that Ruth woman to a lighthouse, after she’d somehow managed to beat up a Judoon or two, and then Ruth had smashed a fire alarm. The Master wasn’t yet clear on why that was hurting the Doctor so much, but clearly it had been something _bad_. 

“What then?” His voice is gentle as he prompts her, and the Doctor lets out a strangled moan and curls in tighter against his chest. He’s never seen her like this. So weak. So _vulnerable_. 

“I was outside,” she mumbles, sounding like she’s going to be sick. “Found a grave. I was digging it up. And it was- it was-“ The Doctor shudders, and then she violently twists away from him, sitting bolt upright. She stares at a spot on the floor, looking like she’s not really seeing anything at all. 

“It was what, Doctor?” The Master genuinely can’t think of anything that could make her react like this. And he’s tried, plenty of times. 

“My TARDIS.” She’s pale, and her voice sounds like it’s coming from afar. “And Ruth- Ruth was me. The fire alarm- break the glass, it said- the fire alarm was a chameleon arch. She was _me_. I scanned her. Same exact person.” 

A chill runs down the Master’s spine, followed by a terrible flash of heat. He stills, and he stares up at the Doctor, fighting to keep his expression under control. He doesn’t want to be O right now. He wants to grab the Doctor by the shoulders and hurl a million questions at her. Except...he also _does_ want to be O. If he was, this wouldn’t hurt him even a tenth as much as it does now. He is in the worst possible position, unable to do anything that he _wants_ to do. 

“What...?” He just about manages to keep his voice level. The Doctor slumps back down onto the bed, grabbing him and pressing in against his shoulder. She holds him crushingly tight, her face hidden, but the Master hears her start to quietly sob anyway. 

“She was me,” the Doctor says again. “Maybe a future me. Or- I don’t _know_ anymore. She talked like she was from the past, her TARDIS- _my_ TARDIS- looked all...classic. But that’s impossible. That’s impossible, that’s _impossible_ , I _know_ who I am.” 

The Master wraps himself around her as best he could. It’s protective, it’s comforting, and it means that she can’t see his face. He’s staring hard at the wall, fighting to keep himself under control. He’d expected challenges, but he hadn’t expected _this_. And- oh, he could put her out of her misery right now. He could come clean about his identity, he could tell her the story of the Timeless Child, who she was and who she’d been. 

And then she’d probably throw him into deep space like the lying coward that he was. It is easy to forget when he is pretending to be O, when the Doctor truly cares for him, how much _lesser_ than her he really is. Reveal himself, and all of that would go away. She would treat him like the dirt he is. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing his eyes closed so that he won’t cry. “It’s all okay. You’re not alone. You don’t ever have to be alone.” 

The Doctor chokes on a sob, pulling her head back. The Master abruptly schools his face into worried sympathy, and hates how easy it is to fill his eyes with warm adoration. 

“I am alone,” she says softly. “Not here. But-“ She clings to him tighter, her voice shaking, and the Master is suddenly very, very afraid that he knows what is coming. 

Dread pools in his stomach as she tries to get herself together enough to speak. The necklace she gave him feels like a lead weight, dragging his conscience down, down, until it pools in the pit of his stomach. 

“But what, love?” He raises a shaking hand, cupping the Doctor’s face. He has to keep up the act. 

“My planet,” she whispers. “Gallifrey. I- I went to go and get some answers. I thought- _someone_ there would be able to help.” Tears are flowing freely down her face now, her eyes dark and full of pain and confusion, and the Master has never felt so utterly wretched in all of his lives. He knows what’s coming. And it’s all his fault. 

“And did they?” His own voice is soft and shaky, but the Doctor hardly seems to notice. 

“They weren’t there.” She pauses, taking several shuddering breaths before she can continue. “None of them were there. The- the whole planet, _everything_ , it was burned to the ground. And I don’t know why. Or who. I think- what if it was me? The other me? What if she did this?” 

Every word the Doctor speaks drives another six-inch icicle through his hearts. They rest there, and ache, and burn through him with cold, cold sickness. Not only has he destroyed her, but she is blaming herself for his actions. 

He’d wanted to torture her; originally. Show her the wrecked ruins of their planet, let her agonise over why he had done it. But this...this is a whole new level of cruel. And he doesn’t even want to hurt her anymore. 

The Master takes a deep, shuddering breath. He needs to come clean. “Doctor,” he says softly. “I’m- I need to tell you, I’m not-“

“You’re the only person keeping me sane,” she mumbles into his shoulder, sounding a little delirious. He wonders if she’d even heard the start of his confession. “If I didn’t have you...I don’t know. Can’t- I can’t deal with this on my own. And the others, they’re nice, but they don’t _know_ me. You know me. If I didn’t have you...this is too much. Wouldn’t it be easier to just throw myself into a star and regenerate until I burn myself out?” 

The Master quietly scraps his plans of confessing. He closes his eyes, lets guilt burn through him until every nerve aches with it and he’s utterly incapable of any other feeling. He owes the Doctor his life for what he’s done to her. By rights, he should be on the floor begging for her forgiveness. Instead, he is in her bed, holding her, because he is a liar and a coward. 

“No,” he murmurs. “Please don’t- don’t do that. I’d miss you, Doctor. I don’t want to lose you like that.” 

She sniffles, and wraps her arms tighter around him. “I wouldn’t,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “I promise.” 

“Good.” His voice is firm for a moment, and then he lapses back into softness. “Good. That’s good. You’re far too precious to me.” 

He has caused the Doctor pain beyond belief. The least that he can do is be sweet to her, comfort her and ply her with honeyed words until she’s not feeling quite so fragile. 

She looks up at him, cheeks stained with tears, and the Master’s hearts break all over again. He is a monster. He’d used to be proud of it, but now he just makes himself sick. 

“You’re precious too, O,” she says softly. “I mean it.” 

He doesn’t doubt her. Leaning down, he brushes his lips gently against hers, feels her wrap her arms around him and roll them until his full weight is pressing her into the mattress. Only then does the Doctor seem to relax a little, comforted by the pressure he provides. 

“I’ll always be here for you,” the Master murmurs, gazing down into her eyes. He sees doubt flicker there; sees a thousand objections, but then they clear, and she just nods. 

“I trust you,” the Doctor says, gently pulling him down until his head is resting on her shoulder. “I know you’ll stay with me.” 

The Master closes his eyes, every throb of his hearts sending another wave of guilt through him, and he just nods as well. 

——

By the time the Doctor has fallen asleep, his resolve is clearer. He has had two hours to think, and there’s only one solution to this. One thing he can do. Carefully, the Master climbs off of her, reaching down to pull up the blankets at the end of her bed. He presses his lips gently to the Doctor’s forehead, and gazes at her sleeping face. 

“I love you,” he whispers. Not as O, whose puppy love for the Doctor is firm but far too adoring. But as himself- as the Master, who is aware of the terrible, awful, vengeful creature that she can be, who is aware of their childhood, of countless civilisations saved and burned, of a history spanning the entire universe that is deeper and more complex than even she knows. He loves her more truly than anyone else ever could. 

Turning away after a last, lingering look, the Master creeps out of her bedroom, having long since memorised the correct path through the piles of junk. 

He makes his way quietly through the corridors, every step echoing faintly. He is a monster. He is a coward. He is a liar. 

There’s no redeeming himself now, the Master thinks. He’s missed his chance for that. Maybe he never had a chance at all. But he’s a terrible person, utter filth, and he knows, deep down, that there’s nothing else left for him to do. If he loves the Doctor, this is the only option. And he does, he loves her so much that his hearts might burst with it. 

Back in his bedroom, he presses his hands over each of his hearts, feels them pounding, _one-two-three-four_. It echoes in his ears, adrenaline lending a hollow urgency to the beats. Everything feels hollow right now, and yet also so terrifyingly _real_. 

Kneeling at his bedside, he pulls open the drawer he hasn’t touched in weeks, and gently lifts out the chameleon arch. 

The TARDIS is silent, as if she fears that her encouragement or judgement might dissuade him. Nothing could do that, not right now. 

Climbing up on his bed, the Master looks up, and wires drop from the ceiling. He kneels again, carefully attaching the arch in exactly the right way. He’s done this before, a long time ago now. Another lifetime. It doesn’t take more than two minutes, even though his hands are shaking. 

When it’s done, he studies the device. It’s done, perfectly assembled, an innocent-looking headpiece that nonetheless scares him more than anything he’s ever seen. He deserves the fear, deserves the hot tendrils that curl around his guts and twist them into knots. The Master traces his fingertips over the metal, until they come to a circular indent on the top. He needs to fit something in there, something to hold his memories. His very _self_. 

A pocket watch is traditional. But it’s also far too obvious. 

Biting his lip, the Master’s fingertips brush over the front of his shirt. He slips off the necklace that the Doctor had given him. Purple and blue glass, warmed by his skin, just the right size to fit into the indent on the machine. Breaking a necklace is harder than opening a pocket watch, he thinks. Far less tempting. 

Steeling his nerves, he slots it into place. It fits perfectly. 

The fast tattoo in his chest is the only thing that he can hear now. It’s worse than the drums; it’s like the beating of a rabbit’s heart moments before the fox closes in. There is no coming back from this. 

He doesn’t _want_ to come back from this. 

The Doctor deserves someone who can love her without guilt, without pain. She deserves someone who won’t hide lies behind every smile. She deserves someone whose wonder at the universe is raw and genuine and beautiful. 

After all that he’s done, this is the least that the Master can do for her. 

Tears filling his eyes, he slots the chameleon arch over his head. It prickles against his skin, tiny electrodes making contact with his forehead, his temples. 

“I love you, Theta,” he murmurs, because even the worst criminals deserve last words, he’s sure of it. 

And then he activates the chameleon arch, and, and-

And the Master is no more. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m So Sorry For This
> 
> your comments on this fics absolutely sustain me and I love reading them all even if I’m terrible at replying, thank you so much for the response this series has been getting so far- and I can’t wait to hear what y’all think of this one <3


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